


Dear Charlotte

by Tindomerelhloni



Series: Dear John Series [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Letters from John and Sherlock to their da ughter, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-10-09 12:03:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17406554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: A series of letters from John and Sherlock to their daughter as she grows up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have it, the last instalment of this series. I knew these boys would let me let them go easily. So, this was the best way to do it. I don't see this fic being overtly long or know when I'll update. I've got the flu, so my brain is foggy right now. But I wanted to get this out there for you.

_ Dear Charlotte, _ __  
__  
_ You took your first steps today. I missed it. Daddy caught it on video though. You were clumsy, uncoordinated, and I’m fairly certain it was an accident. Like your daddy, you were brave. You took two wobbly steps then plopped down on your bum, then looked up at daddy with wide eyes. _ __  


_ I regret being at the lab. I regret that I’ve missed it. Five years ago, I never thought I’d care about a baby’s “Firsts”. I care now, and I'm thankful that we have the moment encapsulated in a video. Forgive me, my dear daughter, for missing this First. If I could go back in time, and skip my jaunt to the lab, I would. All I can do is try to be there for the next.  _

_ Your daddy and I talked about you after we put you down for bed. It was then we decided that we’d write these letters. Our relationship started with letters, as I’m sure you’ll be well aware of by the time we give these to you. I sent a letter through a program, and it was given to John of all people while he was at war. Your father, being the caring individual that he is, wrote back to me. I won't bore you with repeating the story. I’m sure you have it memorized by now.  _ __  
__  
_ We’re going to write you letters, Charlie. As often as we can, and stick them in a box. Then when you get married or move away, or some other moment of significance, we’ll give them to you.  We may even continue them long after. I hope they find you well. I hope you grow up to be like John. He’s caring, brave, resilient, brilliant (don’t tell him I said that), and just about the greatest man I’ve ever met.  _ __  
_  
_ __ You’re only 9 months old, my dear daughter, and I’m so excited for your future. While the future can be uncertain, I know you’ll be loved, every day, for the rest of our lives. I’ll teach you the way of the mind, while John will teach you the way of the heart. You’ll have the best of both of us. 

_ With love,  
_ _ Your Father.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and wright one of these a week. I'm not going to do a ton of them. But I hope you like where it takes us!!

Dear  Charlie,

You have your first cold that can be defined as more than just the sniffles. I’ve never seen Sherlock more untrusting of my skills as a doctor. It was all I could do to keep him from dragging you down to the local A&E. I talked him down, telling him they’d just say you had a cold and would prescribe you the same medicine I did. Your father is a man of reason, but when it comes to you, reason goes out the window. I think it’s cute.

It hurts my heart knowing you're so uncomfortable. Then on top of this cold, you're teething. I wish I could ease your pain. I wish I could shush your crying. For the past twenty minutes, you've sat in your playpen, holding on to the edge crying “Da Da Da Da.” while we waited for the medicine to kick in. I promise we did just plop you in the playpen and leave you to suffer. We'd both been taking turns holding you and trying to soothe you while we waited on the pharmacy.

Sherlock finally couldn't take it anymore. He picked you back up and bounced you around the flat while singing to you. I didn't exactly sit by idly, but your father is the hero of this story. The doctor in me knew the medicine, that Mrs.  Hudson so kindly picked up, would tame your fever soon enough, but the part of Sherlock that is your father sought the need to comfort you.

Right now you and your father are passed out on the sofa while I started to clean up the aftermath of your first major cold. Nappies, clothing, toys meant to entertain you, flannels. The place is littered with them all. But I couldn't help but stop, sit down with pen and paper and write this. You and your father are already so close. He wanted you so badly, and it shows. I can't wait to see how your relationship buds as you grow up.

I love you, my dear sick girl. Rest easy knowing your father has you. 

 

-Dad


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Charlotte,_

_Today was the second hardest day of my life. The first being the day John was pronounced dead. Today your dad and I put an end to the danger that has been looming over us for the past 4 years._

  
_It all started when John was in the Army. His CO at the time had a strange fixation on John. We'd just started talking not too long before that. Moran became jealous. Even though your father never once displayed interest in him._

_Moran was a man used to getting what he wanted. He wanted your father, and John shot him down. I'm not ashamed to admit that I didn't shed a tear when Uncle My told me Moran had been killed by a prison mate. We'd managed to get anything of use out of him long before his demise, so really, it was a weight off our shoulders._

_I'm sure by now you know at least some of what happened to John while he was a POW... Moran was under the influence of another man, Jim Moriarty. I will not burden you with details regarding the depths of Moriarty's clutches. I'll simply say, as your father would so eloquently put it, he was a truly evil man._

_For the first three years of your life, we lived in fear. Fear of what Moran (for a time) or Moriarty would do to us. We were under constant watch by my brother's security team. Every one of our moves was dogged by one of his men. Playgrounds were cleared before you were allowed out of your pram. Stores were scoured for evil before we were allowed in. I'm thankful that you were young enough to not notice it._

_Leaving you, being uncertain if we'd ever see you again, Charlie that was as hard as being told my husband was dead. We couldn't take you with us though. What we did was far too dangerous, and would have certainly been your death if you'd been there._  
  
_I only survived because of John. My dear John... He's our Knight in Shining Armour, isn't he? Always there when we need him, no matter what for. He puts his life on hold to help those he loves. That day John put his fear aside... and he killed a man to save our family. Uncle My cleared it up._

_But let me clear this up. Your father is not a murderer. No, he is our guardian angel, protecting his family regardless of the cost it might cause him._

_My dear daughter, as you grow, as you get into trouble, or find yourself in need, I promise you this. John Watson-Holmes will always be there for you. All you need do is ask._

_Home now, hours after leaving you with your Nan, John is holding you close while you talk with him about biscuits. He's smiling, but I see the stress of the day written on his body. The way he holds himself, just a little too upright,  I know what he needs, but first, he needs this. He needs you. He needs to know that you're happy. That you're well. That what we did today, in secret, was worth it._

_And it is... You, my love, are worth everything.  Enjoy your innocence while you can, we'll guard you against the world for as long as we can. John will be your shield, I'll be your sword._

_With love,_

_Your Father_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one sucks. I ended up going from having the flu to pneumonia. I've been essentially been in bed since the 11 only dragging my disgusting ass out to force myself to work only to have pushed myself too far. Hopefully next chapter will be much better.

Dear Charlotte,

I’m sure you’ll receive two letters from us, roughly stating the same thing. I’ll apologize for any redundancy, but as I’m sure you know, that won't stop me writing this.

Today was, well, it was shit. For far too long spanning just over a day and a half, I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you’d lose yet another parent. As if losing your mother wasn’t bad enough, now us? But, as all heroes do in their fairy tales, we vanquished our foe.    
  
Your father and I left you with your Nan. Who, by the way, is a brilliant lady. I think she saved us, Charlie, I really think she did. To explain, when Sherlock and I are out on a case, in a sense, sidetracked by his brain. He forgets everything around him, except for what is important for the case. Including me. He’ll leave me at the end of some back alley, or dash out of a restaurant mid-meal (after roughly 2 years of leaving with him, I’ve since learned to finish my meal and use his credit card to compensate.) I think, today wouldn’t have been much different if it hadn’t been for something your Nan said. She told Sherlock to keep me close, and he did.   
  
Moriarty told Sherlock, via text, to get rid of me so he could face Sherlock alone. I was just a pawn after Moriarty got wind of how brilliant your father is. I no longer mattered, it no longer mattered what Moran did to me or why. All that mattered was a battle of brains between Sherlock and Moriarty. Sherlock could have sent me away, it would have been easy. He could have told me to go home to you, to keep you safe, despite both of us knowing Uncle My would ensure your safety. Instead, he kept me close. We already knew, in a sense that it was better to keep your loved ones close in times of need, but this brought that to a whole new level.

He was tested to the very limits of his power. I think we both were. But it shows that your father has a heart that rivals his brain. Everything he does, Char, he does for us. Never doubt your father’s reasoning, question, yes, but don’t doubt.

Words escape me as the events of the day are finally boring their way through the adrenaline. 

I can rest easy tonight, knowing that you are safe.

Now the only chaos in our life is you, and your habit to get into things you shouldn't. 

 

-Dad


	5. Chapter 5

Christmas Eve, 2012.

 

Dear Charlotte,

 

My, well our, dear John has insisted we spend what is now our 7th wedding anniversary with my parents. Which is how I've found myself snowed into my parent's cottage, a fire blazing in the hearth as a rare winter storm envelops us. It's magical, well as magical as reality can be. I find my mind is quiet, sated even. I never thought myself to be a family man, but it's at moments like this I couldn't imagine a life without you and my husband.

While it is John and I's day to celebrate, you my girl are the life of the party. Never have I seen my mother take to a child like she did to you. At four years old she has you helping bake Christmas treats, giving my husband and I a few quiet moments together.

Charlotte, I hope you find someone like my John. A Watson to your Holmes. I would be sorely incomplete without him. I, generally, despise people and their stupidity, sharing the same space as them just going to the shops is taxing on my nerves. But spending time with John is the balm to my soul. He makes  _ everything _ alright. I see you, so full of life and curiosity, and can't help but imagine the woman you'll be someday. There is no denying that you've picked up John's endless patience, and my incessant curiosity. I hope whoever share your 7th wedding anniversary with is as well suited for you as my husband me.

Seven years. It seems surreal, remembering how we met, what lead us to marry so fast. Seven years and not all of them spent together. But now here we are. A family among more family.  

Your Gram has offered to tuck you in for the night. Giving John and I an evening together. 

That is if you can make it one night without crawling into bed with us. A feat that has yet to happen. John tells me I need self-control, that I need to say no. But what can I say, you're spoiled and we love cuddling with you when you come tugging on our blankets.

Hopefully, all this ceaseless talk of Santa and what he'll bring you if you sleep through the night will work. However, I can tell you're not quite sure what to think of a mythical man who can deliver presents to every child in one night. Time will tell. Though I do secretly hope to wake up with you cuddled against us.

Happy Christmas, Charlotte. I hope your future is full of love. 

 

-Father. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

 

Dear Charlie,

Today was the day. Today you asked the question Sherlock and I knew would inevitably be asked. To be honest, I'm surprised it took this long to be asked. You'd just walked in, back home from a friend's, you placed both hands on your hips (honestly you looked so much like Shirley Temple) and asked us point blank why you didn't have a mother. Your golden curls bounced as you tilted your head from side as you waited for us to answer. I let out a slow sigh and looked over to my husband who way biting his lip in apprehension.

At eight years old you were able to grasp at the sadness of your mother's story. I'm proud of how well you took it. Granted at the time we didn't give you the full story, simply telling you that an accident had happened.

We gave you a few minutes to grieve for the woman who never got to know you. You never cried, simply sat there and stared blankly at the floor. Sherlock excused himself for a moment and went into our bedroom to retrieve a large shoebox.

We all sat on the sofa together as Sherlock encouraged you to look inside.  Sherlock had painstakingly pestered your mother's family for anything and everything of hers to give to you. As I'm sure you'll know by the time you read this, that he was able to acquire quite a bit. That afternoon though, we sat together and went through the shoebox full of pictures of her. Turns out, if you put a picture of her at 8 years old next to an 8 year old you, you two pretty much look identical.

Until that day, I'll be honest and say that I was petrified of that question. I was afraid that you realizing it was exactly normal to have two dad's, and realizing your mother was gone, that it would change how you felt about us. What I didn't expect was for it to charge how you felt in a positive way.

You wrapped your arms around both of us and thanked us for loving you. You told us you we proud to have us as parents.

Your Nan had given you a locket for your birthday that year. You asked if we could help you put a picture of Mary inside. While Sherlock was a little sad to remove the image of a bee from the locket, we all knew it was the right fit.

She's always with you.  I hope as you grow older, your mother's family will become willing to meet with you. But I think that is a bridge to cross on another day.

Thank you for being so accepting of us.

We love you so, so much.

 

-Dad

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short. And I'm sorry. I've had a lot going on. Need a win in my future.

 

Your father is a downright fool! He refuses to let me help you _pick out_ your science project. He's even threatened me saying if I so much as help you with the project I'll be sleeping on the sofa for a week. He said every child deserves, actually deserves, to make one of those lame volcanos. I had such elaborate plans for us. But no, John Bloody Watson Holmes is a stick in the mud. And a git. I swear, if you pick that stupid volcano I'm making him be nice to Mycroft.  For a week.

 

Update: four hours have elapsed since my rant above. I couldn't be more proud of you. You picked a rather intriguing project, the topic being magnets.  Out of thin wooden dowels you made a pyramid shapes base, gluing three flat magnets along the base in equal measurements, then had a magnet of opposite polarity hanging from the top center.  When swung in the correct direction, once going it's virtually perpetual. You did well.

 

I cannot wait until it's time for you to present this to your class. I bet that Jenkins boy and his insufferable mother made a volcano. I bet they didn't even bother to paint it.

 

Speaking of that. I should help you decorate your project. Perhaps some mirrors would make the appearance more spectacular.

 

-Father.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small update on my current situation. 
> 
> Had some minor health problems for pretty much all of January and February. I think I have them mostly handled. found out my intestines for some unknown reason won't digest certain foods. It's been interesting figuring out what I can and cannot eat. Apparently onions are top on the "can't eat" list. :(
> 
> I've also stopped taking all but one of the meds they put me on for anxiety. After really really researching what I was on I saw that it was all to treat manic bipolar. Not moderate daily anxiety. Soo I slowly cut it out of my system.
> 
> Now my major stress is manifesting tomorrow. I have to appear in small claims court because my health insurance didn't pay for part of my physical therapy back when I hurt my back two years ago. 
> 
> Worst case scenario I owe almost 1k and I'm flat out broke and will have literally no money. 
> 
> I hate life's lemons. Where that lemonade I've been trying to make?

Holiday. It's supposed to be a magical time of relaxation and family bonding. But when one's family is Sherlock and Charlotte Watson-Holmes one needs to (finally) learn that what is normal is far from the case.

We spent our ten-day trip in a little known town on the coast of Spain. Sherlock's family, it's been years now and I still find it odd to say our family, owns a small cottage in what can only be described as one of the most colorful towns I've ever laid eyes on. Our cottage was a brilliant turquoise and sat on a rolling green hill with a path that would lead you to the sea in ten short minutes.

I wore myself out walking you up and down that path. Quite like your father, you were not content to simply  _ sit.  _ No, we collected rocks, seashells, sand, sticks. For what purpose I'm not sure. But you put each in their own pile and mutter to yourself about needing more data.

About three days into this, you met a young girl your age on the beach. The two of you instantly hit it off. Which meant I now had two bodies to keep an eye on.

One does not fight crime with Sherlock then feel comfortable letting their ten-year-old daughter wonder about without supervision. I've seen too much evil. Sherlock did help with supervising duties, as did Aurelia's mother. Still, to this day, I'm not quite certain where two young girls got as much energy as you did.

You two became fast friends. By the end of our stay, you two were looking inseparable.  It's a shame that the two of you live so far away. But you've promised to remain penpals. You told Aurelia how Sherlock and I met through letters and how your friendship will prevail. I hope, my dear daughter, that letters work in your favor, much like they did for myself and my husband. 

Letters are more powerful than people realize. Especially in this day and age with technology at our fingertips. Watching you write your first letter to her, your tongue stuck out in consideration, I can't help but wonder what Sherlock looked like as he wrote me that first letter.  I bet he was scowling. The thought makes me laugh. I should go get my shoes on. By the looks of it, we'll be walking to the post office soon.

With love,

Dad


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanted Sherlock in awe and loving John. 
> 
> I did a quick, half hearted check for errors. I apologise if any got through.

Despite what people might say about me, I do my best, especially since you came into our lives, to keep John and me safe while working. So when both John and I were ambushed in a dark alley two nights ago, I panicked.  I watched as my husband, brave to the point of stupidity, stood in between me and our assailants. Outnumbered as we were, John fought. He single-handedly took out three of the seven men, before I was grabbed and a gun pointed to my head.    
  
We were both bound, gagged and had rough sacks thrown over our heads. Despite the cascade of thoughts running through my head, I couldn't help but think about how entirely cliche out situation was. All it was lacking was a maiden in distress. (Though John would argue that I fit that role quite splendidly on most occasions.)

 

We were hustled into a van, that must have lain waiting only half a block away. (One of the many reasons I tend to stay away from diamond thieves. They're boring, on top of ruthless.) After what I estimated to be a fifteen-minute drive we stopped, shortly after I heard John's attempted curse through the gag as he was pulled out of the van, then it was my turn.

 

It wasn't until they grabbed and dragged me out of the van did panic set in. John hadn't overtaken our captors yet, exiting the van would have been the ideal time. We were good and thoroughly captured.

 

We were taken into some sort of building near, going by the stench of the air, the Thames. A warehouse, I guessed. Again.. cliche. The criminal class in London needs to grow a bigger imagination. This, my dear,  is where they made their first mistake. They threw John and me into the same room, able to move save for the bonds at our wrists and ankles. Your father does not take kindly to being locked up, that small fraction of wiggle room, so to speak, was all he needed.

 

Speaking together in soft tones, muffed by the gag though they were, he was able to locate me with little trouble. I myself am far from helpless, so by the time he'd made it to my side I'd worked myself into a sitting position against what I presumed was a wall. I sat with my shoulder against the wall allowing John space behind me so we were pressed back to back.    
  
"Duct-tape." John half mumbled, but I could hear the determination in his words. I could tell it was awkward for him, but I could feel him twisting and shifting behind me, his fingers grappling at the bonds around my wrists. It took him less than five minutes to pull my hands free. It then took less than five minutes until we were both free, standing and looking about the small dark room.    
  
"Window." John looked up to the single window in the ceiling and pointed, opens out, by the hinges.    
  
"It's too high." I had protested, immediately knowing what he'd suggest. There wasn't a chair, crate, or anything to use to boost ourselves up.   
  
"I'll give you a boost."  John dusted his hands off, then braced himself against the wall. "Get help, and hurry. They won't be pleased when they find me here alone. I'd rather not find out if they plan on using those guns of theirs."    
  
I'll never forget that night, Charlie... My dear John suffering imprisonment, yet again, this time for my sake when he just as easily could have been the one to go for help.

 

It took some... rather quite "yelling" before I agreed to leave John. And only then because he'd been injured. I kicked myself for not seeing it sooner, there was blood seeping from his right side, not enough to be life-threatening, but certainly enough to slow him down. So, begrudgingly, I agreed. I let him hoist me out of the window, and I couldn't help shake the feeling that I was a coward for leaving me as I ran. Logically, it made sense, but my treacherous heart refused to listen to logic.    
  
Ten minutes of flat out running brought me to a road, and panting I stopped the first car I saw. My heart pounding in my chest I demanding the use of his mobile. You should have seen the look on the poor mans face when I was able to dial directly into NSY and get DI Lestrade on the other line in under three minutes.

 

As they tended to do, Mycroft's men arrived first, though the Yard's best weren't far behind. As per my wish, there we no sirens. I hopped into Lestrade's front seat and directed the charge, insisting I be given five men and be let to go on foot ahead of the cavalry. I wanted John out before they charged in. I would not risk him to a stray bullet in their fight.

 

I made it to the same window I'd escaped from roughly 30 minutes before with a rapidity beating heart. What if John wasn't there. What then. Getting a boost from the men with me, I climbed my way to the window and pried it open. To my relief John was there, sitting with his head against the wall beneath me.    
  
It took some fancy footwork, but we got him out, and none too soon. Lestrade had promised me 15 minutes before they moved in, and as John and I slipped into the shadows a few hundred feet away from the warehouse, lights from half a dozen police cars lit up the front of the building.

 

I "borrowed" Lestrade's car that evening, as they broke into the warehouse, to take John to the hospital. To this day he still won't leave his keys in his car, which if you ask me is a good habit to have. But I do not regret getting my husband to the A&E. Thankfully, despite how horrendous his shirt and jacket looked, he hadn't lost much blood thanks to some quick thinking on his part, and they let him go, grudgingly, after 27 stitches.

 

I'll never forget your wide eyes when we rolled into the house as Nan was getting you ready for school. (Bless that woman.) We were dirty, tired, John bloodied. We were certainly a sight. You ran to us and grabbed John around the middle, and to his credit, while he winced he didn't grunt in pain. After a few quick kisses and some reassurance, I helped you finish getting ready for school while John, who was the worst off, cleaned up. He emerged from our bedroom, showered and in clean clothes just in time to see you off.    
  
Always the strong one, he is... Couldn't let his daughter worry about him all day, so he put on a brave face, hugged you tight then saw you onto the bus. God, I love that man...   
  
-Father

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been weird. Hardly any free time to write. But I'm trying. I promise I am.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are coming slowly. I'm sorry. I literally have NO time to write right now. :(

God bless Molly Hooper. My dear, oblivious, Sherlock took it upon himself to try and explain the changes your body is going through. I don't know who was more mortified when he broke out the video explaining menstrual cycles, you or me. But I quickly put a stop to it. No 13 year old to be subject to that sort of humiliation brought on by her parents.

Sherlock meant well, I know he did, but that sort of thing is hard for two dads... Which is why, even though as a doctor I could certainly explain it with more tact, I called up Molly. What a godsend she is. She was thrilled to take you out, to be there for you, she had enough grace to hint that if there was ever anything you wanted to talk about, woman to woman, she was there for you.

You have so many people who love you, so many people on your side. Molly has even started taking you out every few weeks. She's given you quite the taste for shopping, which... I guess is normal for a girl your age.   
  
Recently she took you to a spa, and you got your nails done professionally for the first time. Sherlock thought it a waste of time and money but kindly kept that little thought to himself. (I threatened to kick him.) You were so excited, ran down to show Nan, then got right online to show Aurelia.

Speaking of Aurelia, I cannot wait for this afternoon! Her dad called me up last week, he has business here in London and asked if Aurelia could spend a few days with you. I think, when you find this little surprise out, you'll apologize for stomping all the way up to your room when I told you to go clean it.   
  
I'm so glad, despite all odds (how often do vacation friends stay friends?) that you and Aurelia are as close as you are. You've long since gone from letter to e-mail, to Facebook, to face-timing. To this day she remains your closest friend, even despite the distance.  I'm glad such technology is available to you. Sherlock and I certainly might not be where we are today if we hadn't had similar features.

Distance is tough, especially when it is your best friend. It's so easy to tell yourself that you'll talk to them tomorrow, or that too much time has gone by and it would be weird to hop online and say hi. You two have stuck it out, and I'm so proud of you. (And yes, your father and I coordinate our vacations with her family now. But I feel that has hardly anything to do with it.

I should go check up on you... You're like your father, stubborn to a point when it comes to cleaning. I can't exactly threaten to kick you out of bed like I do Sherlock, but I'm sure I'll think of something if needed. Maybe I'll threaten to make you watch that wretched video.

 

I love you,   
Dad   
  
PS. I would never make you watch that! Even if your room was worse than one of Sherlock's experiments.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't exactly know what made me skip ahead in Charlotte's life this far, but something in doing it just felt right. Maybe it's because I have so little time to write at the moment, but still, I feel it's right. I also wanted an emotional Sherlock, fighting with major change, and this fit the bill. Written on a piece of paper towel at work then typed up on my phone lol... I promise I'm not neglecting writing, I just literally have no time.

As those around me know, I am usually able to push aside troublesome emotions and focus on the facts. A matter John sometimes views as cold and inhuman. (What good is it for me to be filled with worry for a client if that emotion is simply going to cloud my judgment and perhaps cost me a valuable clue?) Yes, I do lash out at clients (again John disapproves, ever my guardian angel, worried about my public image, even in our deteriorating age.) but when I do, certainly they deserve it. 

This, however, no amount of preparation has helped me deal with the onslaught of emotions I’m feeling. John has just finished loading the last of your belongings into the car, and now I’m expected to, with a clear head and a smile on my face, drive you an hour away to your dorm. (And God knows how I hate the A40!)    
  
Of course, I’m ever so proud that you, my brilliant daughter, have been accepted to Oxford, and John and I are both thrilled that you’ve chosen to follow in your dad’s footsetps and wish to become a doctor. But I’m not ready for you to leave.  You’ve just started becoming your own woman, and you’re ready. Ready for this next chapter in your life. But Charlie, since the moment you came into our lives, you’ve spent exactly three months and eighteen days away from us. This… this is real. 

I do believe I’m going to miss everything about you. Including the temper tantrums (less now that you’re older, but still they do happen.), you trying to sneak in past curfew, playing personal taxi to you and your friends. But most of all I’m going to miss the quiet nights spent in as a family. You sitting on the sofa between John and I. How you still cling to one of us during a particularly scary movie, or you pretend not to cry during sad scenes. 

Are we to become the parents you see when your laundry needs to be done? The phone call that’s made when you’ve run out of cash? Is our little family falling apart? Will you still come home and view this, Baker Street, as home? Or will it simply be the place you grew up in? 

People ask me, well they mainly ask John, if we’re excited to have time “to ourselves” again with you out of the house. John laughs it off good-naturedly, as is his way, but we both worry that everything we’ve had as a family is reaching its final chapter. You’ll be starting your own family soon enough, or going off to be some charitable doctor in a third world country. You have your dad’s heart, what is to become of us now?    
  
John’s been paying special attention to our e-mails. I know he’s been trying to find us a case for once your gone, and though my heart isn’t into it, perhaps it would be best to stay busy. As for now, we have one final dinner together, as a family, Nan included. One last dinner at Angelo’s before our world tips upside down.    
  
Despite my worry and my fear, my Daughter, I wish you all the luck (don’t you dare tell your father I’m wishing luck to anyone, not even you) and I need you to know that we are always here for you. No matter the hour, we’re but a phone call away. Best of luck, Charlie.

-Father


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a change here. Hope you enjoy it.

To my two loving Fathers,

 

These first few months on my own have been exceptionally different than anything I've yet experienced. However, you both have taught me incredibly well, preparing me for more than I ever realized.

 

As this first year is mostly refresher courses, or beginner Chem, Health, and other classes required for my major, I'm finding that my classes are not at all overwhelming for me. Whereas they are proving to be taxing for most. It seems like having the great Sherlock Watson-Holmes as a permanent tutor my whole life has given me quite the leg up on the other students.

 

Not that you haven't contributed, dad. Your knowledge as a doctor and the use of your old textbooks have proven invaluable to me, and have certainly prepared me more than any of my other classmates. Already we've had five students change majors, and it isn't even Christmas break yet.

 

My whole life, you have instilled in me the power of letters, and the special place the hold for our family. Which is why, after much consideration, I've chosen this method of communication for the following news. 

 

As you are aware, Aurelia and I's request to room together was approved, after all, you helped move us in. Since the start of our friendship, she and I have had a special sort of bond. More than just "Childhood Vacation Friends" as some stated it in our early years of friendship. A Bond that has only grown as we grew. (Perhaps you could say that the letters we wrote to one another as children were magical. Now, Father, stop rolling your eyes and let Dad continue to read.)

 

During what was supposed to be a late night study sesh (Aurelia needed a bit of help for a quiz.) that may or may not have included wine, we both confessed to feeling more than just friendship towards one another. She and I have now been in a relationship for two months.  You are both the first we've told. Not out of fear of being called lesbians, or other such names. But because we wanted, in part, to be selfish. We wanted to spend some time familiarizing ourselves to the, if only subtle, change in our relationship. We have few worries about her parents, or our friends, not accepting us. Though we both share a small concern that the University might care. However, it isn't like they've got to worried one of us might get pregnant. But for now, we'll keep our changed status as unknown as possible.

We're going to give this letter to you when we come visit this weekend. I thought about mailing it but decided I'd rather see the looks on your faces as you read this. We'll call her parents afterward and break the news.

 

Thank you for teaching me that love has no shape, that love has no gender or boundaries. 

 

You both are the two most incredible people, and I'm so proud to call you my parents.

 

<3 Charlie

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Charlie signs her letters to her parents with a big pink heart, dotting her I with a heart as well. :) maybe its because I have the most awful handwriting so I'm projecting petty "girly" writing onto her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry my updates are so far apart. I need to figure out a writing schedule with my new job and balancing that with a 2 hour A day commute and a boyfriend. 
> 
> For now though here is this. 
> 
> This is the last letter in this series. I have one more short story of John and Sherlock's retirement planned but I don't know when I'll post it. So subscribe to the series as it'll be a separate work. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this far.and for sticking with me after my co-author stopped writing with me. 
> 
> <3 Tindo

 

Dear Charlotte & Aurelia,

John and I have been writing to you, Charlotte, now for 25 years. Mostly about your first steps, first words, our trips, some of it about nonsense. We agreed, after adopting you that we wanted to do something special, to carry on our tradition of letters, to immortalize in words your life. At first we couldn’t agree on when to give them to you. John suggested after graduating college, should you attend, I suggested on your 18th birthday. We went back and forth until you announced your engagement to Aurelia. We knew then that this shoebox full of letters and pictures would be part of our wedding gift to you.

It’s weird, me being so sentimental, I guess John has rubbed off on me a lot more than he or I realized. But as I watch him dress and get ready to walk you down the aisle, I can’t stop the tears of joy from welling up in my eyes. I tell myself often that so much has changed since John came into my life, but that is also the same about you.

You opened my heart to a higher level of love than I realized I was capable of. My love for John is purely selfish, my love for him is, in a way, for me. But my love for you, my dear daughter, is for you. Everything we do for you is, forgive me for repeating myself, for you. I’ve, we’ve, always only wanted the best for you. I never used to put others before myself until John. But then you entered our lives, all pink faced, hungry, alone in this world and I knew I had to give you everything, anything you’d ever want.

It was no hard choice, adopting you. Neither John nor I needed convincing. It just, was. You belonged, you needed us, and I needed you.   
It’s hard now, giving you to someone else. Sharing you with another person. But easier knowing you’ve found your soulmate in Aurelia like I did with John. Some things are just meant to be, and that is all a father could wish for when his child leaves.

I hope you enjoy our letters as much as we’ve enjoyed writing them over the years. John’s telling me to make sure I mention he loves you, which I’m sure you already know. That said, however, we both love you and hope today is everything you hoped and dreamed for.  
  
-Sherlock and John


End file.
